Excluded and Invisible

By Cec Murphey

Note: Typically Cec contributes a single page of insight in this column. However, given the theme of this issue, we appropriately inserted chapter nineteen from his book, Aging Is an Attitude—Positive Ways to Look at Getting Older. This is an insight for every age to grasp about the older generation.

I like volleyball. Although I’ve never been a star player, I’ve held my own in the game. Maybe that’s why it hurt that day when the men set up a volleyball game and excluded me.

For several months in Louisville, Kentucky, I had been involved in a men’s group that met every other Saturday morning. I soon became one of the guys and felt fully accepted.

Until the day of the volleyball game.

A dozen of us from the group met at *Rich’s house. At the end of the meeting, Rich pointed out that he had set up a net, “So why don’t we play?” He volunteered as captain of one team and appointed the captain for the other.

Within two minutes, every man had been chosen or assigned to play on a team—everyone that is, except for three of us. We were old men. The players were under forty; the three of us were over fifty.

They didn’t intentionally snub us or disregard us but they excluded us without asking if we wanted to join one team or the other. Actually, I had wanted to play, but I realized that I had become invisible to them when it came to volleyball. By default, we became their cheering section.

That exclusion reminded me of something my slightly older friend, *Katherine, had once said to me, “When a woman reaches a certain age, she becomes invisible to men. No matter how alert, active, or even attractive she is they no longer see her.”

More than just physical activities, we’re excluded from many things—and from some of them we probably choose to separate ourselves. Our clothes are often different, our values sometimes conflict, and we often prefer different forms of entertainment.

Even so, none of us likes being excluded or ignored; it hurts when we feel we are. But it occurs to me that this is part of the way God made the human race. I suspect God intended us to march through life with our chronological peers. That doesn’t throw us into rigid categories, but for most of us, our friendships stay within a decade or so of those younger or older. That makes sense to me.

One day I grumbled to myself about not being invited when three of my friends went hiking. We sat at a table for lunch and they discussed the trip in front of me. For twenty minutes I became invisible to them.

As I listened and sipped my iced tea, I thought of an account in the Old Testament. King David had been deposed by his beloved son Absalom. As the story opens, David and his loyal soldiers will have to fight Absalom for the throne. David appoints generals and captains to lead the troops. “The king told his troops, ‘I am going out with you.’ But his men objected strongly. ‘You must not go,’ they urged. ‘If we have to turn and run—and even if half of us die—it will make no difference to Absalom’s troops; they will be looking only for you. You are worth ten thousand of us, and it is better that you stay here in the city and send us help if we need it’ “ (2 Sam. 18:2–3, NLT).

The biblical account tells us that David agrees. He stands at the gate of the city of Mahanaim and watches the troops march out and they are, of course, successful.

That day at lunch as I thought of that story—and of the many times since—I know David understood the logic of the arrangement, but I wonder how he felt about being excluded.

He had become an old man—the very man who had been a fearless warrior and leader of troops since his late teens. Now he has been excluded. He’s the king and more valuable by staying in a safe place. That may have been the reason. I suspect there was an even more compelling one: For them, David had passed his prime as their warrior-leader. After all, David’s value as the king hadn’t stopped him from fighting before. It’s quite possible that they recognized it was time for the king to put away his armor forever.

“So he [David] stood at the gate of the city as all the divisions of troops passed by” (2 Sam. 18:4, NLT). His heart must have ached. I wonder if he stared at his wrinkled hands and remembered the time he had killed Goliath or rescued captives from the Amalekites.

That simple incident says to me there comes a time when we move into a new position—when we’re excluded by age or ability and we need to recognize that younger and more able people take our place. We don’t have to feel inferior. Part of our transition in positive aging is to accept where we are. We don’t have to appear younger, try to act more robust than we are, or project any image of what we’d like people to think of us as—we only need to be who we are.

We have our victories behind us—and in our hearts. We don’t have to apologize for where we’ve been or where we can no longer go.

I observed this at a recent Thanksgiving celebration when our kids discussed music. They’re in their forties, and they still enjoy the old rock-and-roll music. Brett, my thirteen-year-old grandson, said quietly, “I like rap.” I didn’t say anything, but I have a number of CDs from the big band era.

If I had spent days listening to rap or rock and roll before our time together, perhaps I could have discussed their music with them.

As I listened to them, however, I thought the variances of music taste made sense. They were relating to the music of their generation. Their interests reflected their peers and their attitudes. I was entitled to my music as much as they were to theirs. None of them called me outdated, old-fashioned, or boring. They recognized that their tastes differed.

What if God intended it that way? Is it possible that God wants us to learn to exclude ourselves and walk beside our peers? It may be a good thing to admit that we have graduated to another level. Problems and frustrations arise when we insist on being part of the volleyball game and can’t keep up with the thirty-year-olds.

In a 2003 film called Something’s Gotta Give, Jack Nicholson plays (and looks like) a sixty-three-year-old lothario who chases women under thirty and has never been out with a woman over a “certain age.” He seems to have the younger ones fall over him and has a date every night with women young enough to be his granddaughters.

After seeing the film, a thirty-something woman friend remarked, “That may sound like a big deal for a man, but as a woman, I wouldn’t want to be seen going out with a man that old. What would we have in common?”

Before the film ends, Nicholson finally realizes he is an older man and falls for a fifty-something woman. In the final scene, he plays with his wife’s first grandchild. That’s where he belongs.

Assuming we’re all not like the major character in that film and also assuming we’re accepting ourselves as we are, what then? Maybe we need to teach people how to treat us. If we show them grouchy, complaining personalities and talk about the irrelevant past and the way things “are supposed to be” (according to our viewpoints) why would they want to be around us? If we show them that although our faces have wrinkled, and our muscles are less flexible, our minds still work, maybe we can show them that we have things to offer. We might also enable them to realize they don’t have the maturity or insight to be one of us. Wouldn’t it be exciting if we could encourage the younger generation to anticipate that the next decade of aging is something to look forward to? What would it be like if they yearned to be sixty just as much as they longed to be twenty when they were in their teens?

What if we show them that the next decades aren’t the worst period of life? What if we lived in such a way that they saw every decade is as significant as any other?

As I’ve stressed throughout this book, we older folks need make no apology. We are who we’ve become. We have things to teach, and part of that is to show people how we want them to relate to us.

During the time I was working on this chapter, I spoke to Bernie Kida, who joined our Sunday school class the summer of 2003. Our class has a wide range of ages and a third of the fifty or so members are over sixty.
Here’s what Bernie told me. “My initial hesitation on joining your class was that I wondered if I would really fit in. I had made the incorrect assumption that since the average age of your class was higher than in previous Sunday school classes I’ve attended, the prevailing thinking would be traditional, compliant, and perhaps, staid.

“I found my assumption to be quite wrong as I have discovered the individuals in class to be rambunctious, full of mischief, and quite like myself—ever questioning. On the contrary, I have found the individuals closer to my age fall on the conservative side of thinking. That realization in and of itself has made my time in your class worthwhile, not to take anything away from your teaching of course. Your thought-provoking questions stir debate and generate opinions. At forty-two I realize that I have so much more in common with Dot Baker and Pat Fields [both in their seventies], than I have with those my age. In essence, I have learned who I would like to emulate should I be fortunate enough to reach such an age.

“One other comment I have is that I see a larger cross section in age in your class than in others, which is a testimony to the broad appeal of your class. I can’t think of a healthier combination for spirited discussion.”

Is it possible that many of those who are younger have missed out on something? Could it be that because they have thought of those older as outdated and ancient they might make wrong assumptions just as Bernie did?

If that’s correct, maybe we need to teach people how to treat us. And they’ll learn if we’re willing to show them. We show them best by being who we are.